


colour theory

by pinkgrapefruit



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: if love was a colour it would be strawberries.[one shot]





	colour theory

**Author's Note:**

> for linda, and also evan bc he's a babe.  
> (I'm tired and I can't think of an authors note)  
> all my interpretation, completely fictional yadayada  
> enjoy! x

If love was a colour it would be strawberries, the juice dripping from your lips like promises. All of the sweetness of a summers day, mixed and melded into one single bite. It would be picnic gingham and party dresses, not mutually exclusive but almost. It would be happy and light and red; like your lips and my lips and our lips, touching at high noon. The saccharine sweetness of the fruit dancing with the bitter taste of tonic water on your tongue, my fingers grasping at straws to find the moment I knew  _ I loved you _ . It would be apples, the apple tree we lay under as we watched the sun go down. On a hill in California without so much as a thought to the rest of the world. It would be your shirt, your favourite shirt. The one that reminds me of you every time I see something similar. Vibrant, yet soft, just like  _ you. _

 

Love would be hiking with no limit, stood between the earth and the stars, almost close enough to touch them. Watermelons and candy floss and skies with no end in sight. 

 

If peace was a colour it would be sailboats, catching in the wind. The warm air pulling them and pushing them about like pawns in a war council. The very idea of drifting pleasantly in that heat forever, akin to the dreams of a sailor. The lapping tides of Tampa Beach, frothing, foaming at the mouth for us. It would be the flags you stick in sandcastles, hopeful they will not be washed away by the earth itself. Tiny notions of belonging in a sea of uncertainty. You are my belonging in a sea of uncertainty.

 

If comfort was a colour it would be sunshine on an autumn day. It would be the jewelling of the grass under our feet like the stones on your tights. The dew in the forest akin to the crystalline bodysuits you prefer. It’s the knowledge that home isn't a place, it’s a person - a person who wears too much cologne and showers at ridiculous times. A person who is small and light when needed but can bear the full weight of expectation and still have the energy to make dinner. It is the contrast between hip-hop and ballet, and the ability to do both seamlessly to the same music. It’s fresh sheets, mussed by human life and cuddling through til lunch. The sound of rain on open windows when I’m warm and safe inside with  _ you. _

 

If stress was a colour it would be too tight sweaters on a too cold day. The fabric hugging your body in ways that feel unnatural. It’s the day before snatch game and then the day after as well. It tastes like lemons and smells like cheap caffeine.

 

If resentment was a colour, it would be ashtrays, half full of human lungs to be of much use. It would be long nights in dressing rooms when you’re not the one on stage but you want to be, boy do you want to be. It would be knowing that you have won but not feeling like you have won because the one you love doesn't care. It would be plane rides, alone, choking on the notion of loneliness because at least it tastes better than menthol. Single-use razors in hotel bathrooms. His and hers sinks with only one person. It would be quitting smoking for someone, only to take it back up again because I don't know how to live without it, even when I've learned how to live without you. It’s ashtrays, full of 3 packs chain-smoked out of my flat window because you hate it when I smoke indoors and I still hope that you’ll come back around.

 

If righteous anger was a colour it would be mugs, hitting the floor. Ceramic shattering to the sound of the bass and violin solos. It would be the wind hitting trees at a gale force pace, white knuckles and the feeling of your own nails piercing the soft skin of your palms. The knowledge that your nails have pierced the soft skin of your palms drives me insane. It’s stinging eyes and that terrible feeling where you forget how to swallow. The moment between the inhale and the exhale where the world is still and quiet. It’s how I felt when you left, and how I felt when you never came back.

 

If loss was a colour it would be thundering rain on glass panes, when you're home alone. It’s tv static like tinnitus in your ears but the whole world feels made of it and it’s all-consuming. The endless droning of a car radio when I’m lost at night and all I want to do is get home to you but you’re not at home so I keep driving. It’s being on a roller coaster the second the bottom drops out, all falling but never really landing.  It’s getting used to a life sans-Vanessa, sans-Jose and sans-us. A life where red does not mean love, but anger and sailboats are shipwrecked on shores when the wind is too strong for them to stay afloat.

 

If grief was a colour, it would not be black. Black is too easy, too clean cut, no - grief would be a _hurricane._

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! if you've got any feedback/ constructive criticism you can catch me in the comments here or over on tumblr @pink-grapefruit-cafe. I love you all and your feedback truly motivates me to keep writing xx


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